It's All In The Past
by SHERlockedBridget
Summary: An old acquaintance from Sherlock's younger years pops up, just in time to aid the investigation in the newest crime spree in and around London. When Sherlock believes that Moriarty might have something to with it, it's only a matter of time before the ghost from his past becomes involved in a cat-and-mouse game with the most dangerous criminal mind of the 21st century.
1. Chapter 1

The door to 221B Baker Street opened, and John walked in, carrying a bag of shopping and an umbrella. His roommate was, as usual, still wearing his pyjamas and dressing gown.

"Sherlock."

"Yes John?" a pair of green-blue eyes were trained on him.

"It's mid-day."

"Yes John, I'm aware of that." already uninterested, Sherlock turned away. John sighed.

"It's midday, and you're _not dressed yet_."

"Once again, thank you for highlighting the already startlingly obvious."

"How old are you?" John snapped, his patience wearing thin. When he didn't receive a reply he decided to go into the kitchen, leaving Sherlock to sit silently in his chair.

Unpacking the things he'd bought for dinner, John looked around the kitchen. Something smelt bad. _Really_ bad. Like milk had been left for a week in the sun.

"Sherlock?"

"What now?"

"Why does this kitchen smell like bad milk?"

"Experiment," was his only answer.

"I don't think I want to know what kind of an experiment." He muttered under his breath, starting to make himself a coffee. Behind him, he heard the door to Sherlock's bedroom close. Good, he was getting dressed.

Taking a deep, calming breath, (which was needed most days in 221B), John waited for the kettle to boil, before making himself a hot cup of coffee and settling down in the armchair. He closed his eyes, thinking about the date he had for tomorrow. A nice meal, with a nice girl. He wouldn't have to cook for Sherlock and listen to his complaints about being bored.

"_Thank God_." He whispered, taking a sip of his coffee. Nothing could interrupt these few minutes of quiet while Sherlock tried to find his pants. Nothing.

What was that scratching at the wall?

John opened his eyes and looked around the flat. There wasn't anything making any noise in here… So what was that scuffling, scratching noise?

Placing his coffee on the table, John stood up and walked towards the front door, to see if someone was at the door. The hallway was empty.

Behind him, he heard a grunt and another scuffling sound, and turned around just in time to see the curtain flutter, and someone fall through the window onto the carpet.

"What the hell?"

The person turned their head to look at him. There was a clear look of surprise on their face. On their very young, and very pretty face. A girl, who probably couldn't have been much older than twenty-five, had broken into 221B.

"Oops." She muttered sheepishly. There was a long moment where she stared at John, and John stared straight back.

"Who are you?" he asked, breaking the silence.

"Um… I'm not really important." The girl stood up and dusted herself down. After a short moment, she held out a hand for him to shake.

"John." He accepted it. She already seemed to be distracted, as her eyes were wandering around the flat. There was a hint of confusion in her face as she took in her surroundings and then looked back at John.

"Uh… Excuse me?" John watched as she went to the door, opened it, looked at the sign saying '221B', closed it, and gave him another confused look.

"What are _you_ doing here?" she asked. It sounded more like she was just thinking out loud, so he decided not to answer.

"John?" Sherlock called from his bedroom, "Can you _not_ Skype your girlfriend while I'm in the flat please?"

"I'm not!"

"I can hear your voice, and a voice which is considerably higher, so unless you're talking to yourself and doing all the voices…" Sherlock stepped out of his room, and froze when he saw the girl. His eyes widened, ad his mouth opened into a small 'o' shape.


	2. Chapter 2

The three off them froze like that for a few minutes, before Sherlock broke the silence.

"Evelyn, what are you doing here?"

Her face broke into a warm smile, "I'm glad to see you remember me, Sherlock."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "How could I forget."

John's eyes widened. Sherlock - and this girl?

"Did you two?" he began, and Evelyn started laughing.

"Me, and Sherlock? Of course not!" her dark green eyes sparkled as she talked, and she cast the tall dark haired man an unreadable glance. John looked from one to the other. Sherlock's arms were folded across his chest, and he was standing in his normal, "I'm such a sociopath and I pull it off Bitch" pose, and Evelyn was leaning against the armchair, her eyes lazily flickering between John and Sherlock.

"_Are you two_?" she began with a teasing note, before both men interjected with a sharp 'No!' each.

"So hang on," John asked after a moment, still a little confused as to why a girl who knew Sherlock had broken into the flat, and was now talking away and laughing with them. Or at them. He wasn't 100% sure which.

"You know Sherlock?"

"Of course." she sat on the armrest of the chair, "We grew up together."

At this, John whirled around to look at Sherlock, who nodded.

"Yep."

"You actually grew up with her?"

"Yes, John." Sherlock said in his bitingly false-patient tone.

"So why did you just climb through our window?" John turned back to Evelyn. She opened her mouth, but behind him, Sherlock scoffed. John turned.

"What?"

"Can't you tell?"

"Obviously not. Enlighten me." John said driely, folding his arms. Sherlock sighed, like it was causing him physical pain to recall the details which his brilliant mind had picked up on so easily.

"She was obviously looking for me. I heard the door open and close while I was getting dressed, so perhaps she decided to leave and then changed her mind,, but it's more likely that she was checking she had the right house. It's a bit embarressing, even for her, to climb into the wrong house. So, she was looking for me. Why would someone I haven't spoken to in years be looking for me? Maybe for an enriching conversation -"

"But seeing as I know you, that's unlikely." Evelyn interjected with a smile.

Sherlock continued like he hadn't heard her. "Probably that she was in trouble. She was a little out of breath when she came in here - could have been from the climb up the wall and through the window, but someone who's as active as her is likely to have recovered from that in the three or four minutes it took me to get out here. You never were a good long distance runner," he added, looking at Evelyn, who shrugged.

"If it's my only weakness."

"Active?" John echoed, still trying to catch up with Sherlock's mile-a-minute brain.

"Skinny jeans, John, always show you a person's phisique. Sometimes that's not a good idea, but you can tell from here how toned she is. It's all in the way she holds herself as well.

"So, anyway," he continued, starting to pace the room, with his hands behind his back, "You were running away from someone - probably you owing money or something like that. You saw your chance to get into a familliar home and dissapear, saw 221B Baker Street, thought Sherlock Holmes, and owning to your peak physical coondition, scaled the wall and dropped in no problem. However, when you came in, instead of finding me, you found John, which confused you. _So_, to check you had the right house you checked the door. Then I walked out, and here, we, are."

He took a long pause between each of the last words, his eyes burning into Evelyn. "Now, did I miss anything."

It wasn't a question.

She smiled, "I didn't owe money to them, Sherlock. I was _almost_ mugged."

"In broad daylight?" John's eyebrows shot towards his hairline. Sherlock, meanwhile, began quietly cursing.

"Apparently."

"It's always one thing." Sherlock hissed angrily, throwing himself down in the armchair. "I'd have thought that for you, I would have been able to get it all."


	3. Chapter 3

Detective Inspector Lestrade was leaning back in his seat, his eyes closed, listening to the sounds of his office running smoothly from behind the glass door. There wasn't a single problem. No murders, no missing persons reports, no thefts, no issues.

No Sherlock.

A smile appeared on his face. No Sherlock Holmes, ready to rub Anderson and Donovan the wrong way and cause an argument, just because he thought he was right.

He opened his eyes and looked down breifly at the file on his desk. Today he was getting a transfer, in exchange for the old and grisled Richard Tat,e who'd been working with the police force for about a billion years, Today he was swapping grumpy old veteran for new, attractive, young Detective.

Molly Hooper, the Morgue worker, appeared at his door.

"Hey Molly."

"Hi." she gave him a timid smile. "You called uo for me?"

"Yeah," he straightened up and motioned for her to come in. She closed the door behind her and sat down opposite him. "We've got a new Detective in today, and she's about your age. I was wondering if you could show her around, and make her feel comfortable?"

"Sure." she seemed happy to do it, but slightly confused. "Uh... Why me though?"

"Hm?"

"Why me?" She tucked her hair behind her ears meekly. "Why not Sally? If she's a Detective, then surely she should be shown around by another Detective?"

"I'm pretty sure she'd prefer to hang around with you rather than Sally." he said kindly, standing up and walkin her to the door. "I'll call you up when she gets here, OK?"

Molly nodded, and from across the office, Lestrade heard the unmistakable tone of Sally Donavon.

"Morning, Freak."

"Oh God." Lestrade moaned, rolling his eyes, "What's _he_ doing here?"

He turned to look across the office to see Sherlock Holmes striding across the carpet, his face set in its usual Hawkish stare, his trench coat billowing out behind him. Joh Watson was following closely in tow, and in between them was Lestrade's new Detective, Evelyn Johnston.

"Morning." Sherlock said, approaching them. He nodded to Molly, who Lestrade had noticed had gone a bright shade of pink.

"Morning Sherlock, John." he looked past them to Evelyn, who was smiling. "Detective."

"Morning." she replied cheerfully.

"How do you know Sherlock?" a line appeared between Lestrade's eyebrows.

"Old... acquaintances." Evelyn glanced at Sherlock between the two words, "To normal people, Old friends."

"Right," Lestrdae was confused as to how Sherlock could have been in contact with a girl like this for part of his life without even turning a hair. Then again, it was Sherlock. "Evelyn, this is Molly Hooper, our Morgue specialist. molly, this is Evelyn, the new Detective."

The two girls shook hands, and Evelyn gave her a warm smile.

"Molly, why don't you show Evelyn round the building, and where she'll be working. Everything like that?" Lestrade suggested, and, watching them go, he turned to Sherlock and John.

"What are you two doing here?"

"Came to drop off Evelyn." John said.

"Yeah, well no offence boys, but whenever either of you turn up I get a murder."

"Actually," Sherlock moved past him into his office to take a seat. "You usually call us in whenever there's a murder."

"Then you turn up and something even worse happens." he muttered, walking in to sit down. Sherlock had already sat in his chair. grudgingly, he took the seat opposite.

"So," Sherlock looked at the file on the desk, "Evelyn Jonston is your new Detective..."

"Yeah."

"I wonder why she decided to become a Detective..." John muttered from the corner of the room. The other two turned to look at him, and he shrugged, "Growing up with Sherlock would put anyone off it."

There was a silence while Lestrade smiled gently, and Sherlock went back to reading Evelyn's file. After a few more moments, the phone rang.

Lestrade eyed it wearily before picking it up.

"Yes, hello? Yes..." his eyes slowly moved up to meet Sherlock's, and he glared at him. "Yes. Okay, send the files over, we'll take a look at it. Yes... yes we'll call him in." He hung up.

"You two are bad luck magnets." was all he said.


End file.
